


Hand in Hand

by wittywords



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alpha Dorian, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Cullen, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-03-28 08:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13900236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittywords/pseuds/wittywords
Summary: Staring into the bleak wall of the cave in, Cullen was afraid, far too keenly aware of the handsome Alpha trapped with him and the heat burning under his skin.A night of passion triggered by heat, leading to fluff, a little bit of drama to have more unapologetic fluff, and of course the babies.





	1. Chapter 1

Dull grey before them, red behind like the memories, the sky was drowning in dusk, cut up by the sharp ridges of the mountains when the Inquisitor finally called to break camp. The weary exhale of the collective relief travelled across their ranks, Cullen being not the last one grateful for the respite. Respite, however, was still some time off because the animals needed to be secured, the meagre shelter pitched up and the people accounted for, hence not a day went by without a few falling behind who needed help with rejoining the main group. 

While the Commander fared better than most, there were days when his endurance was sorely tested, this being one when he moved in a fog, concentrating on the perilous task of setting one foot in front of the other on the treacherous slope. During their advancement through the mountains, he was fighting a lethargic feeling that called him to drop into the nearest snowdrift and sleep for a week. 

Commander set about the remaining tasks methodically. Without pausing his stride, Cullen briefly squeezed his eyes shut and dug the fingertips into his temple, doubting this would do anything against a long amassed headache. 

That's when something crashed into his shin. Cracking open the eyes revealed a terrified child no older than five. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," Cullen took into consideration wide eyes regarding him and shoved away whichever irritation arose from nearly ending up on the ground as well. "Are you all right?" 

Ignoring the question, the child scrambled up and wiped his nose with a sleeve, looking around quite lost. From the height advantage, the Commander looked around too, searching for the concerned parents. Of course, none were in sight. The memory sluggishly conjured a pale, Dalish woman who kept close to the right wing of their group, near the kitchen supplies. There weren't that many children, which made the recollection easier. 

"Come, I believe I know where you mother is," Cullen offered as the child eyed his offered hand warily. The fear of being alone won over mistrust and a tiny hand slipped into his gloved one. It was so light, almost intangible. To be trusted with something so fragile made his heart squeeze. Cullen managed a wane smile, but the boy didn't look up. For the worry of hurting or frightening, the Commander dared not tighten the grip a bit to offer the reassurance. There was another pang when the hand slipped away and the boy spotting his mother ran into her embrace to be hugged and scolded. 

Exchanging a look with the woman who lowered her head in gratitude, Cullen headed away, being able to label why the scene made him sad. In spite of dedicating his life to the service of others, he was an Omega advancing through thirties with each day more aware how mercilessly short was the window when it was safe to have children. While his age wasn't critical yet, he hardly foresaw any blooming relationship in the nearest few years that could have led to creating a family. Informing oneself that some things were impossible hardly dissuaded his instincts that occasionally called for his arms to hold and made his heart ache from being empty. 

Cullen tried dealing with it the usual way by locking up that pain and focusing on the immediate survival, tougher and more severe in handling anything extra like the social graces. Witnessing his irate mood, the others mercifully elected to stay clear of the Commander, except for Dorian Pavus. 

The mage never made the requirement for Cullen to be in a good mood in order to appear by his side. More so was puzzling his willingness to interact with the mistrustful former Templar who questioned Dorian's presence in the group of the refugees who escaped Haven. 

Cullen bore no hostility towards the man as he preferred to discern one's motivations prior to forming judgement, but with reservations. Since his dashing appearance at the gate to warn them about Corypheus' attack was too sudden, the Commander had to doubt as he felt responsible for the safety of many civilians as well as the military entrusted into his care. Even if one understood his motivation, Cullen still expected resentment for these doubts, however, the Tevinter mage reacted to his caution with a magnanimous 'fair enough' and waved his hand wide as if extinguishing an argument. Perhaps, him seeking the Commander's company was the eagerness on Dorian's behalf to resolve that lack of trust, which could have impeded their professional dealings, by showing he had no secret agenda to sell the Inquisition out to the blood mages or the undead. 

This aside, the mage kept a sharp wit and a sharper tongue to deal with a more aggressive display of mistrust. Such confrontations grew rare. Either the people were getting tired and unwilling to endure barbed replies or because Dorian proved reliable during their difficult journey, subtly appearing as a shoulder to lean on when need be and just as discretely moving onto the other tasks. This, along with the thoughtfulness when faced with the new challenges, earned the Commander's respect, cutting past all those biting remarks. As the one who had inclination to grow tongue tied and hardly wielded the words as his weapons, Cullen better understood actions. Dorian's spoke of a decent man who was trying to help them. 

Once he finally had the chance to seat by the campfire, the Commander was not surprised when Dorian appeared and offered a steaming cup of tea or some bark that passed as tea. In spite of being quite engaging, the mage also knew when to let drifting silence into their circle. Wordlessly, they were looking into the wavering flame with the camp sounds fading into the background. 

Dorian was right beside him, not quite touching, but there, a solid presence. This reassuring aura nearly made Cullen forget that he barely knew the man. In a moment of weakness, the omega nearly followed the urge to lean against the mage and lay his head onto Dorian's shoulder, allowing the day's stress to ebb away. 

"Commander."

The ever fresh voice, no matter the exhaustion, of scout Harding startled him out of the musings. 

"Chancellor Roderick before he..." the dwarf rubbed the back of her neck trailing off long enough to take a breath, "you know... he had named a location where the pilgrims used to rest during their travels. It can't shelter us all, but surely it has some supplies stashed for an emergency. Since we're short on everything, I've taken a look around and found it. It's not far. Except, the passage is all dark and creepy. There were some clicking noises inside. I figured it would be best to send in someone well armed."

"Thank you. This could save lives. I suppose tomorrow morning we will be moving on. It might be best to check the cavern before night fall."

Cullen's eyes wearily travelled across their encampment, pondering who to send out for this task. Too few soldiers have survived the assault on Haven. The ones battle ready had a nasty scrape with a pack of the feral wolves at midday, which added to the list of injuries. The destruction of the Inquisition refuge still burned like a twisted knife in his chest that had yet to be pulled out. With a sigh, Cullen got up. His legs throbbed, expressing agreement to walk to just one place in the world - away from their owner. 

Dorian rose as well, silently showing interest in coming along. Commander was going to protest and then thought better of it. It was best to have back up in an unknown area close to night fall. 

"Lead the way."

Harding nodded. After separating from the camp, the Commander realised he had to work on maintaining their pace, following an elusive scout who nimbly dealt with the rough terrain by gliding from shadow to shadow. After passing through the area once, she led them surely and before long they stood at the cave's entrance.

"This is it," Harding pointed at the murky darkness where it was possible to make out the dimly outlined stalagmites that twisted the passage. "Good luck and don't stay inside too long, else, I'd have to tell the Inquisitor to come get you... or what's left of you." 

"Your optimism is enthralling, dear lady. Thank you ever so kindly," the mage piped in. 

"Glad to be of service," Harding grinned apologetically before slipping away and leaving the pair to deal with her find. 

Her find offered a treacherous footing and navigating around protruding obstacles in a twisted passage better suited for the nocturnal creatures. 

"Say what have these pilgrims attended?" Dorian chimed as something that resembled a cracking bone got crushed under his boot. "Dinner or funeral?" 

"Both," Cullen snapped, catching a faint movement out of the corner of his eye and throwing up his shield in a nick of time against a hefty lump of the sticky substance that slammed against the cold metal. A hairy limb tried to slip past his defences and he slashed at it fiercely. Aside from the poisoned fangs, the arachnids never suffered good hygiene and even a scratch ran the risk of infection. 

The area flared into orange chaos and a maddening swirl of shadows as the Tevinter mage unleashed fire wrath against the crawlers. 

"This way," the Commander yelled, able to make out in the sweeping illumination where the passage widened and a spot better suited for fighting.

Trouble rarely travelled alone. A grunt that cut them off from the exit informed the duo how the former spider dinner got possessed and set about recruiting visitors into its ranks. The mage's staff bore into the ground and a glowing circle formed to cork the narrow point. It bust into violent flames as the wobbling husk violated its boundary. The walls groaned and the cracks much like the spider webs sprung through them. 

His sword made a mournful clang against the ground as Cullen threw his arm around Dorian's waist, forcing them back. His shoulder flared up in pain at the bulky weight raining down onto the shield raised above their heads. The screeches of the corrupted creatures finding demise in the cave in chilled the blood. His foot was caught on something sharp. They stumbled. And fell. There came darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

As the racket of the fallen debris subsided, Cullen became aware of the weight atop of him and a hand cupping the back of his head that had cushioned it from smacking against the ground. His face was buried in Dorian's leather shoulder while his mind internally assessed the damage. He was stunned and his shoulder throbbed, but nothing implied serious injuries. Dorian stirred as well, cautiously rising on his elbow. The grey eyes delved into his bearing a mute question. They were lively. The longer one looked, the more one found playing in their depths. This Cullen noted before, but never had the chance to be this close or to fall lost into them. Hopefully, any delay in response was attributed to getting smacked over the head with lots of boulders.

"Not hurt," his voice sounded no better than a frog croak that drowned in a pond, but it satisfied the mage who rolled aside and onto his feet with no small degree of agility. 

"Given the far beyond average skill level, as well as the dazzling good looks of those present, I fancy this situation is not as dire as in need of the tedious labour on the way to freedom."

The statement cut through the settling dust as Dorian examined his arm and gingerly flexed his fingers, pleased to have gotten away with them bruised. Fighting a dull buzz in his head, Cullen regained his footing far less gracefully than his companion. 

"Why, my dear Commander, you doubt good looks are going to help us out of this predicament?" Dorian read the evident trace of scepticism etched onto omega's brow. "I would be a heartless fiend to leave a handsome man like you sealed up in a gloomy cave. A face like this requires sunshine." 

Tevinter mage ran a hand through his hair, shaking off a cloud of dust, as he set out to ponder the weight of the earth spiked with bulkheads blocking their only exit like it offended him by conscripting him into such a messy chore. 

Grateful that a thick layer of dust peppering them was at least good for hiding a blush, which sprung up whenever Dorian opted for the glib flirting, Cullen approached the cave in and aimlessly tapped his hand against the mound where his sword was buried. In a week of observing the alpha, Cullen came to recognise the defensive way of keeping the distance through such remarks while offering a diplomatic stance. Dorian's goal appeared to be reaching a moderate form of tolerance. Regardless of his purpose, the omega was daunted how every time following these playful gests, he felt the rush of warmth to his cheeks and the flock of butterflies getting ready to test their wings. 

Set to be more constructive than poking at it, Dorian lifted his staff. The orb at the top spread orange light across the ceiling to check its integrity. It seemed sturdy enough to avoid another collapse, allowing them to make an attempt at clearing the passage. 

The motion parted a trimmed cloak and exposed Dorian's shoulder. Smooth, like a chink in the amour, it begged for a hand to cover it. The new cloak aside, the mage displayed loyalty to his national outfit better suited for the sun scorching weather. While lacking in practicality, it fitted the man to the bone, advantageously outlining his stature and muscles. What was he thinking when they were trapped! Cullen averted his gaze in alarm. 

"One of the chests may have the tools," he kicked his brain into some form of a coherent response. While Dorian hadn't prompted him to speak up, the omega sensed agitation and a need to hear a few words from him. 

He chose wrong, finding the tools at the very bottom of the second chest. Dorian was weaving intricate magical patterns to reinforce the walls. While not vast, the cave they were sealed in had enough room to serve as a refuge for the small groups of pilgrims who used to pass through the area. This space was hardly helpful as the pair had to work at the same point in close quarters, brushing elbows occasionally. Such proximity made Cullen's skin tingle. Commander tried focusing on the rhythm of the tools scraping against the debris and the gradual dent yielding to their efforts. 

In spite of the chill and a mild whiff of the crisp air coming in through a narrow crack in a high, shadowed ceiling, a sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. Cullen brushed the droplets away and then smelled it on his palm, the scent of an unbound omega that quickly grew stronger - his scent. 

The revelation froze him and all the prayer words entangled into an unbreakable knot. No wander he felt like crawling out of his skin. He got too caught up in the events after Haven, the world turned to blur where the heat and nature that knew their time have managed to catch him off guard. It was too easy to attribute the irritation to tiredness and headache to the lyrium withdrawal. 

The flickering light, coming from a few logs left in the hearth that got ignited during Dorian's use of his power, made the walls dance and tighten around him. The encroaching entrapment was squeezing his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He must have paled.

"Cullen?"

The soft voice laced with concern nearly made him jump out of his skin. The dropped tools noisily clattered against the ground, shooting fresh pain into his temples, as Cullen leapt several steps back. Every muscle stiff, he was ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. The alpha's stare was melting him into the floor. Did Dorian know? Of course he did! In the closed off space, no alpha would have failed to smell the mating call. Both of them were in danger of succumbing to its power. The ground treaded by zombies and drooled on by spiders looked a poor place to wreathe in pain. Would he completely disgrace himself by begging for the alpha's attention?

The omega refused to look up, afraid that seeing Dorian would elicit some embarrassing reaction. He never had the experience of spending the heat in the presence of an alpha. Cullen was already in training when he presented. At the Tower, the Templars hardly had the luxury to be sentimental. Anyone in heat or rut was tossed into an isolate room with a reliable guard posted outside the door. The Knight-Commander had the only key. At least there was some privacy provided, along with the blankets and a tub of water. Here, he would be exposed, completely vulnerable. Trapped.

When the first footstep, so light it could have been floating, was made towards him, the omega was torn between throwing himself into the furthest corner begging to be spared and reaching out for the alpha. He was surprised when Dorian knelt and delicately placed his staff at his feet before withdrawing a short distance.

"Please, don't be frightened," Dorian's voice reached out in a way Cullen hadn't experienced before, it was soothing. "My friend Felix used to be an omega. Sometimes I've stayed to support him through heats - holding, nothing else. It might not be much of an assurance, but I am capable of controlling the instincts. In any event, I would prefer to hex my privates with the pestilent boils than impose on someone defenceless. If you aren't comfortable, we can always fashion a rope and tie me up, though, I much prefer to be thought as more than the dreadful mage from Tevinter who drinks children blood and plays liaison with the leeches."

The confession earned Dorian a brief glance and the man's lips twitched like he wanted to voice disagreement before the omega shied away from him once more. Only with a pang of pain did Dorian release his deathly grip, realising how tightly he was clutching his knees. That's what he had to hold on to because he could not place his hands on omega's trembling shoulders. The ridiculous nursery rhymes from his homeland used for soothing distressed children were running through his mind. Dorian didn't know their source hence his father had never been sentimental enough to bestow them onto his only son.

"And if I'm the one who needs to be tied up?" Cullen exhaled dismally. 

"To be considered by a man who rivals sunlight. I shall have to bear that burden," making no abrupt movements, Dorian rose to examine the pilgrim possessions in hopes of finding something useful to serve Cullen's needs. "Perhaps we can think of a way to make you more comfortable, while you are deciding what's to be done with me and hopefully not planning to weather the storm in that plated case that can suffocate a druffalo. I promise not to peek or harbour any wicked fantasies while you are removing it."

Pointedly, Dorian turned his back and moved away, allowing Cullen to feel more in control. No matter how badly he wanted to check that his companion was all right, he had to give the omega some time. 

In general, Cullen was a confident man who served as the source of strength for others. Seeing him so disoriented and hurting left a brand in Dorian's chest, the desire to reach out and tell the distressed omega that he didn't always have to assume the protective role, sometimes he was the one who needed to be protected.

The alpha gathered all scattered bedrolls formerly in the pilgrims' possession, wrinkling his nose at their suspect cleanness. The material hissed and the puffs of steam rose as the mage glided his palm across their length to burn away most of the filth. Satisfied they might ward off the cold emanating from the ground once piled up, the mage draped his cape atop of them only then risking a look at the omega. Much to his relief, Cullen had taken his advice and removed most of his heavy armour, arranging it neatly atop of a crate. The omega's fingers were trembling slightly and fighting with the last arm guard buckle until the stubborn piece came off and too got stored securely. That last motion was deliberately slow. Once done, Cullen shuffled the arm guard perfecting its placement and clasped his hands, not knowing what to do with them. 

Dorian cleared his throat and then gestured towards the arranged bedrolls, making sure he was not standing between them and the omega. "This sorry pile of stuff appears secure enough to sit on. Because I'll be camping in that charmingly gloomy and farthest corner over there, I won't be able to react quickly enough as much as I'd want to. A poor but a pillow might be preferable to landing on the ground in case you feel faint." 

No sooner than he said it, that's exactly what Cullen did. Dorian was scorched by the senses overflow, the earthly scent shrouding the omega and his bodily heat burning through all material. The alpha swallowed and tried to abandon the hold before common sense was abandoned as soon as the balance was re-established. Cullen shuddered violently like a dam being broken and leaned against him. His arms wrapped around the mage's waist. 

"Shhh..." the alpha muttered nonsensical reassurances as he cupped the nape of his neck, treading fingers through the blond hair and encountering sweat. 

Taking care, Dorian guided them to seat on the makeshift bed, quite certain his knees weren't designed to remain sturdy under the circumstances. With Cullen leaning against him, the mage placed a hand onto the flat, perfectly toned stomach. The warmth emanating from his palm helped loosen the strained muscles. 

When he mentioned Felix, the alpha was mildly bluffing about his self-control. Felix was like a brother, a notion sufficient for wilting arousal. This was an omega who captured attention by awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck when teased and pulled one's heart out with a small, somewhat askew smile. Dorian's heart certainly twisted when Cullen shuddered and swallowed a pained gasp as the first contortions assaulted him. 

"Don't suppress pain on my behalf." Dorian cupped his cheek, taking the risk to look into the amber eyes to catch signs that he was heard. The stubble brushed against his palm. The pupils were dilated issuing the mute pleading powerful enough to move what had no heart. The omega's lips were parted, taking hurried breaths. They inched alarmingly near as Cullen shifted in his hold, close enough for their breaths to mingle. Feeling like he was tearing off a limb, Dorian willed himself into guiding Cullen's head to rest on his shoulder safer from the temptation. 

The omega's hip unwittingly brushed against his stone hard bulge. Dorian had already trice wished to have chosen much looser pants, as well as bid the irreplaceable garment a sad farewell, as one had to be stone literally to withstand being clung to by the handsome omega. 

"Do you ever mean them?" Cullen shifted again and peered at the alpha tentatively to study his face. "Those words when you allude to me being attractive." 

Allude? Dorian snorted at an overwhelming understatement coming from someone who entirely failed to realise exactly how attractive they were, assigning all compliments as jokes, but to his credit that is what Dorian wanted him to think wasn't it? 

"I enjoy stating the obvious," the alpha replied. "The sun is warm. The grass is green." 

He hoped brashness would cause a stumble and a retreat, which it did for one instance before amber eyes searched his one more. Far too earnest, the expression in them tore down all lies before they could form. 

"But do you feel them? Even the slightest bit? I understand you speak this way to the Inquisitor too, as well as... I'm sorry! That's far too inappropriate to ask. Of course I'm nothing special." 

Another blush formed underneath the one heat induced. It was disparaging and self-scolding. Unattractive, Dorian couldn't let such a heinous lie to take root. Before the omega could withdraw into himself, Dorian closed the distance between them halting a breath away from the alluring lips that promised euphoria. 

"Every word," he breathed, sealing the truth with a kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

The encounter was tentative like a delicate dream. Each following touch begged permission, willing to withdraw at the self-cost for the good of their partner. Beneath the wavering disbelief at being granted such unexpected pleasure simmered passion. 

Dorian wasn't aware when his eyes closed to savour every sensation of the inquisitive mouth pliant against his lips. They snapped open in alarm when Cullen whimpered into the kiss, thrusting his hips against the alpha's and grinding their groins together, as another wave of pain hit him. 

"D-Dorian?" his grip tightened on the mage's shirt. Shakily bringing his shyness under control, Cullen willed himself into facing the alpha. "I'd like to trust you with... I m-mean, that is, only if you want to. I haven't b-been with another before and you might think that dull..."

Losing nerve, Cullen squeezed his eyes shut. Maker! Why did that stutter had to appear now? Surely, an alpha who carried himself in such refined manner and confidence, capable of holding attention of any conversation partner with a brilliant mind and witty remarks, had plenty of pining admirers much better than a former Templar who couldn't tie two words together, less so express his desire. Even from those scowling at the mage, Cullen had caught the occasional looks of admiration. His eyes snapped open at Dorian letting out a sharp laugh torn with desperation to control the raging passions. 

"Being considered by a man who saves the honour of the Ferelden nation by carrying the weight of being intelligent, sexy and brave to add, I might think myself crazy should the notion of dull enter my mind," he rebuked huskily. "The only thing I bemoan is having to let you out of my arms long enough to remove certain obstructive clothing articles."

Seeing that words were having no desired effect, the alpha pressed a nearly chaste kiss on his partner's lips. Slightly cheating so he wouldn't have to let go entirely, he ran his hands down the omega's hips and legs until he reached a boot and began pulling it off, relieved when Cullen after a brief hesitation removed his hideous fur collared garment. In spite of burning up, he had kept all his clothes on, aside from the heavy armour.

Having done away with the boots, Dorian moved onto undressing himself, rather pleased that his pants were saved from the ultimate ruin after all, not to mention the relief of getting out of their confines. His shaft swelled and a droplet of pre-ejaculate formed on its tip. The omega's gaze fixed on it and then Cullen ducked him head realising he had stared. His hold on the laces faltered. No matter the desperate want, the omega was an entanglement of nerves. 

Dorian leaned in to taste those divine lips again, wandering how he had lived without them. Cullen seemed comfortable with kissing, returning each one if a bit awkwardly but brimming with feeling and gratitude because as aroused as he was, the omega didn't think he would have been able to handle an aggressive partner. Easing the transition, Dorian gradually slid his hands down his sides to finger the pants waistband and then tugged at the laces. The alpha kissed away mild unease while the pants along with the smallclothes were rolled down the trim hips. 

The omega shivered when Dorian cupped his ass and then his fingers dipped into the cleft to probe the guardian ring. It was relaxed if tight, allowing two fingers in easily. Cullen bucked against him, seeking more contact quite desperately as Dorian added the third finger, working on stretching the virginal passage. 

"Lie down with me," Dorian requested gently. The legs parted for him in a mute invitation. The alpha lifted them, getting a view of the stretched passage, dripping wet and ready for mating. The sleek covered Cullen's inner thighs. Curious for the taste, Dorian leaned in and ran his tongue over the sculpted muscles. This elicited a wanton yelp and his partner's whole body arched. 

"I'm sorry." 

Realising this wasn't the time for teasing, the alpha moved in between the parted legs. Finding consent in the amber eyes, he pushed inside, growing light headed from the sweet sensations that assaulted him. Dorian revelled in the signs of distress vanishing from the fair face, soothed by his presence. Fully sheathed, he paused to give Cullen a moment to adjust. He was rewarded with a grateful look.

Cullen's hand slipped into his, seeking reassurance. Pressing a delicate kiss atop, Dorian cradled the offered limb. He didn't want the omega's first time to be purely about satisfying the physical needs. Cullen deserved to feel loved. 

"I'll cherish this. You need to know how special you are," he whispered.

Their hands remained linked as the alpha pulled out far and thrust back in. Cullen yelped pushing against him, pain replaced by the tenfold pleasure as the sweet spot was discovered. The alpha set a slow, lingering pace. He wasn't going to last long. His cock throbbed so full he thought it would explode. 

"I should pull out," Dorian panted, sensing he was reaching the peak. In reply came a breathless cry calling his name. Cum shot over his stomach as the omega reached the orgasm. The inner muscles vehemently contracting around his shaft pushed him over the edge. Clutching his partner's hand in his, the alpha rode out the endless waves and spilled his seed deep, every drop coaxed. 

Breathing hard, Dorian braced his hand against their bedding. He was dizzy. The tingling sensations coursed through his body. Assembling his drifting thoughts, he identified these feelings. They were akin to being drunk on happiness. The alpha looked to where their bodies were linked covered in sweat and semen. Remaining inside was comfortable. The were occasional spasms wrecking Cullen's body that were soothed by them being together. It's greatest hunger satisfied, the heat still pulsed strong, enveloping the couple. 

The damp curls ruffled by their love making and the glow which removed pain from the handsome face was a sight to behold for an aesthetically trained eye. Drifting out of the magical daze, Cullen smiled at him. The completely unguarded sentiment upturned the alpha's lone spirit. His heart echoed with a newborn word. Amatus.

"Thank you," Cullen muttered.

"The pleasure is all mine," Dorian grinned. "How do you fare? Are you all right? Can I do something to make you more comfortable?" keeping the ridiculously sentimental notes out of his voice failed miserably. His words sounded suspiciously like fussing. 

"I'm g-good. I mean... this is a lot of take in... Maker! That sounded wrong!" Dorian took wicked pleasure as the omega squirmed and blushed under his insistent gaze and then glared back in indignation at being so poked fun of. "Hey! It was! You're... big! I was worried how it would fit!" 

"Now that would be a compliment," Dorian wiggled his hips, making the omega squirm anew. Their hands were still together. Unwittingly, the alpha was stroking the knuckles with his thumb. 

"D-dorian?" the tentative question played a string in his chest that resonated with melancholy. "Can you stay with me a while longer? I d-don't want to feel abandoned."

The mage swallowed and nodded. Had anyone asked him before? Dorian hadn't lacked offers. Sex was used to satisfy pride and the physical needs, sometimes purely for fun or even protest, but it rarely repeated with the same person. Its aftertaste was impersonal as his partners gathered their things and left having satisfied basic wants. 

Dorian didn't realise he was lost in thought until Cullen kissed him upon sensing the alpha's inner turmoil. 

"You have my undivided attention for as long as you want," the mage assured when they parted for air. Their touches, even the innocent ones made him tremble. They worked on subtly rekindling the heat in his stomach. "Nothing will pry me away, even if the Archdemon tears off the roof and Corypheus falls out of the sky. I'd have to ask them to go fantasise and envy elsewhere." 

The blond warrior snorted at that. "He might be so angry because he hadn't done it since the dawn of time he hails from." 

That pain of death sweeping across Haven like a fierce storm remained unresolved and demanded to be vanquished by tears or laughter as long as it didn't get stuck like an unmovable stone inside.

"Now that would be an interesting way to get him to change his mind about destroying the world, but it would be tricky to find someone ugly enough to qualify as a date."

"A Broodmother?" 

"Maybe we could set candles upon a restaurant table, and send each an anonymous date invitation?" 

"Then see who devours who? Either way this will do us some good." 

"As beneficial as this might be for the world, the image is not good for my stomach."

The pairs studied each other, contemplating the magnitude of everything that had nearly crushed them. Cullen's grip on his hand was grounding, disallowing to venture too far into brooding darkness. 

"It hurts thinking how many were lost," the warrior voiced. Speaking about it still felt like forcing the words through a thick wall. "Yet, they died protecting what they loved. That, we must honour... cherish that which is left," the last part was whispered while Cullen gazed into Dorian's eyes finding them swimming with sadness and understanding. 

They resolved this sorrow with a new kiss, comforting rather than urgent. The omega's kisses were different each time, overflowing with shades and various emotions displayed so purely it was nearly painful. The minor shuffle gave away him wanting to voice another question that was making Cullen squirm. 

"May I... w-would it be all right if I touched you?" 

"Take your fill," the alpha purred. The answer was yes to just about anything before Cullen asked. 

He huffed at the omega wiggling away from a finely crafted kiss to study his face. A calloused thumb traced his moustache outline. A look full of concentration while the omega cast butterfly touches over his face made up for the loss. Less boldly, Cullen eventually let his hands rest on Dorian's shoulders, from there moving on to trace the biceps through the thin undershirt. Cullen's white shirt had remained on as well. Nearly transparent from being completely soaked in sweat, the material clung to the nipples. The omega made a pleased sound in the back on his throat when Dorian ran his thumb over them. His hands settled on the alpha's chest to return the favour. Recently spent, the already alpha felt new stirrings of arousal as his body took acute interest in the experimental caresses. 

Since the damp material was going to cool and grow uncomfortable, he pulled Cullen's shirt off over his head with a little prompt to rise up. The alpha disposed of his garment too, eliciting a surprised yelp at the wet lips coming to lap at his nipple while his arms were raised over his head. The sensation was akin to a lightening exposure. It travelled directly to his groin. 

Encouraged by the alpha's reaction, Cullen repeated the procedure, focusing on the other nipple. Where had the good Chantry boy learned to deliver such an obscenely divine pleasure? It bordered blasphemy. Incapable of more than excited sounds, Dorian braced himself against his partner, while Cullen's mouth and tongue traversed the expanse of his chest. The omega wrapped his legs around Dorian's waist, urging a deeper penetration. The alpha needed no encouragement, rutting and painfully hard once more. The ejaculate excess leaked from his throbbing shaft. 

Dorian buried his face in the crook of his lover's neck where the scent was the strongest. It was rejuvenating like the earth glimmering after the rain. The body, bountiful and ripe, called him to share its delights. The sweat droplets left a bitter tang on his tongue as he lapped them up. Pressing feverish kisses onto the neck and shoulder, Dorian needed more: more friction, more flushed skin pressed against him to brand his body, more arms wrapped around his form harbouring ecstasy. The alpha in him growled in approval, eager and perked up with interest. 

Gradually, without his awareness of spiralling deeper into its hold, lust enveloped his senses. In wild abandonment, the lovers surrendered to the forceful rhythm of their bodies, the hum of their souls. Mate! So declared the alpha. Beautiful. Precious. Mine!

They were encased in an energy sphere, building up to unreachable heights and collapsing. Together, they were thrown into ecstasy. Crying out his lover's name, Dorian flooded him with the hot semen. His teeth sunk into the perfect juncture between the neck and the shoulder, marking it with a love bite. 

The alpha collapsed against his lover breathlessly, listening to the rapid beat of Cullen's heart. He was quite content to spend an eternity soaking in the afterglow of the love making. Eventually, he worked up the energy to pull out, releasing some seed that filled up the omega so completely it dripped onto the cape. Cullen's breathing grew steadier and his body radiated contentment. More than pleased, Dorian leisurely stretched atop of his lover like a warm blanket. The omega's scent clung to the blond locks and skin. Dorian kept pressing small kisses onto the broad chest and temples. 

Comforted by his presence, his lover drifted off into restful sleep. Dorian watched him for the longest time until the amber glow in their makeshift fire dimmed and the alpha's breathing evened out, succumbing to rest.


	4. Chapter 4

"Lord Pavus."

The chill of a plate gauntlet set on his bare shoulder to shake him awake jolted Dorian into a lucid state better than the non-aggressive motion. He became aware of no other than the Inquisitor leaning over them and a naked body resting in his arms, a nest of blond curls pillowed on his shoulder. The first reaction was annoyance hence the omega valued his modesty. Dorian extracted his arm to grab the tasteless fur garment from the ground and draped it across their midsection, while he assessed the Inquisitor's expression, labelling it as concerned rather than accusing, at least for now. Trevelyan was a mild mannered man who wasn't inclined to jump to conclusions. Luckily, no other audience was present. 

"The last man who was clearing the passage saw you. He called me in when he thought he was close to breaking through. I don't believe he's the talkative type. I've asked him to wait outside and make sure no one else enters." 

The Inquisitor was an intelligent man too, asking no pointless questions since the scent and the position they were found in left little to the imagination. 

"Clever girl. She must have heard the tunnel collapse," Dorian prompted. While he had felt rather comfortable curled up around the omega protectively, one didn't lounge naked in the polite society even in the middle of the forsaken nowhere where being able to build a fire counted as a high civilization achievement. 

"We've received word immediately," the Inquisitor explained. "As exhausted as we all are, there was no shortage of volunteers and the work progressed quickly in short shifts. We've lost too many to have given up." 

"We appreciate that," said Dorian. He did. It was a lot more likely both of them were buried by rubble and eventually the diggers would have encountered two broken corpses, but Haven taught them to unite rather than fall apart. Corypheus didn't realise the extent of his trouble due to the spirit the common men displayed. 

The chill didn't hesitate to sink its claws into Dorian's skin and privates as he stood barefoot on the frozen ground and tried to be calm and rational about collecting his haphazardly discarded clothes. They were badly tangled up, but even dry having been abandoned right by the fire. His father would have been so very proud of how dignified his son appeared sorting out his smallclothes in a situation when one was doomed to look ridiculous. Or rather not. He would have been outraged by the prospect of his son falling into such disgrace. How delightful. While Dorian painstakingly worked on maintaining a perfectly sculpted body, he preferred to boast his achievements by revealing the patches along his arms or chest. Parading around the cave in full view required work on his behalf to keep the embarrassment from spreading. 

Mercifully, Trevelyan kept his eyes away as Dorian fumbled with his clothes. The man's brow creased in worry as Cullen shivered deprived of the human blanket. The alpha's tended to react differently to the heat scent mostly falling into two basic groups of either dominating or protecting. Trevelyan removed his cloak and safely tucked it around the sleeping omega. Dorian pointedly ignored a pang this action elicited and desire to have only his cloak wrapped around his mate. This pang was replaced by the growing concern that the man still hadn't woken from the sound of their voices nor when Trevelyan tried to shake him awake. 

Frown deepening, the warrior removed his glove and placed a hand onto Cullen's forehead. "He's dehydrated," the alpha informed and reached for a water flask attached to his belt. 

Dorian didn't need to be informed of the danger. In heat, the body burned out rapidly. All omegas always relied on drinking a lot of water. The last time Cullen had anything to drink must have been many hours ago. Neither of them had water when they got caved in.

The Inquisitor prompted up Cullen's head and coxed the cool liquid past the cracked lips. The omega swallowed convulsively and instinctively reached for more. He was allowed to drink everything, the process controlled by his benefactor because thirst played cruel tricks forcing the man to swallow more than he'd be able to safely. 

"As much as he would appreciate walking out to avoid gossip, it wouldn't be safe forcing him awake," Trevelyan reasoned. He bundled the omega into their cloaks, covering as much as possible to hide the Commander from the immodest stares and lifted Cullen into his arms. This action was confronted by a strong grip. Dorian's fingers harshly dug into his wrist that wasn't protected by the gauntlet. The Inquisitor nearly growled at the offender. Their gazes locked, something primitive exchanging in them. The pause resembled those in any city slums where vicious knife fights broke out among the alphas. It was unworthy of them. 

"Apologies," Dorian issued, taking a step back to let the Inquisitor pass. He was behaving like a jealous husband while he couldn't identify who he was to Cullen. It was presumptuous even to say friend, more like an acquaintance in a very bad situation. 

Common sense damned, he was still irritated how securely Trevelyan huddled Cullen to his chest and how careful he was navigating the crooked passage to ensure his charge didn't bump a foot or an elbow against some poorly visible protrusion. Broadly built like all front line shield and sword warriors, the Inquisitor seemed like a wall one could lean on safely. 

Outside, they got crowded by a group of volunteers who had done the digging and soldiers who were guarding the perimeter. Cullen was well liked. Seeing him carried out and unresponsive dampened the morale. The Inquisitor dispersed the onlookers by a few well placed orders issued in a calm manner and bearing the assurance that the Commander suffered no severe injuries. In all this, the Tevinter mage remained inconspicuous as there weren't any volunteers to worry about his health. Those who didn't ignore Dorian measured him with looks that conveyed the desire for those rocks to have fallen onto the dreaded blood mage rather than on his companion. He was anticipating a similar reaction on a larger scale once they got back to the main camp. 

At least the heat scent was significantly weaker out in the winter air. Trevelyan didn't linger for anyone to catch its trace. A few people hurried ahead to the camp to summon a healer and inform everyone of the good news. 

Ser Barris was the first to approach. Duty was keeping him at his post, but he was waiting anxiously at the camp perimeter. 

"Kindly, reassure the troops their commander will be back on his feet soon," the Inquisitor requested. 

The young man looked very worried regardless and reluctant to leave their side, but he knew how to follow orders. There were others who approached. The eyes and conversations tracking their progress were unsettling. Dorian noted how the Inquisitor avoided the healing wing and moved towards his private tent, sinking Dorian's heart lower with each step. This meant he wouldn't be able to oversee the omega's recovery in spite of the stink eye the healers were bound to give the Tevinter mage. The thought of another alpha left alone with Cullen added to his disquiet. Stubbornly, he walked as far as he'd be allowed, doomed to be turned away at the tent flap and remain restless for as long as they were separated. 

"Lord Pavus, I'd like to discuss the incident with you and see to your injuries as well," Trevelyan requested officially like he was offering an explanation to the observers. Dorian sensed their disapproval as he quickly accepted this invitation and stepped inside. The closing tent flap hid them from the onlookers. 

The tent was already occupied by Adan. The grumpy alchemist looked anything but pleased to serve as a private nursemaid when Trevelyan carefully placed Cullen onto his bedroll. He catalogued the injuries as a matter of fact after prompting the patient to drink more water. There was an ugly gash across the back of the leg that tore up the skin. As they were short on the healing supplies, Adan gruffly informed those present that the stock was reserved for the severe injuries and this one had to heal on its own. Cleaning up the caked, dried up layer that risked infection had resumed the bleeding. The remnants of a ruined shirt served as the bandages to bind the wound.

The greatest concern was the shoulder. Dorian was flinching when their nominated healer examined the injury that was rapidly changing to a sickly colour. Eventually it was declared not broken and offered the same treatment as the gash in form of a cold compress. 

The lack of response was attributed to the overwhelming stress paired with the physical exhaustion. Once the body reached its limit, the consciousness retreated to give Cullen time to recover. 

Grumpiness aside, Adan had one excellent quality. He made no comment about the evident bite mark. Hence the sky was full of the abomination reeking holes, he had greater concerns than who frequented whose smallclothes. 

Adan strictly forbid forcing the patient awake until his mind prompted him back voluntarily and said that Cullen must drink a lot of water regularly. A quick assurance from Dorian that he suffered no worse than bruised knuckles saw their healer out of the tent where he met a volley of questions with appropriate sarcasm. 

Trevelyan knelt by the omega's side and dipped a cloth into a bowl of water, when Dorian's hand covered his again.

"Please, allow me," the mage kept the challenge out of his voice. The sharp tongue got him into trouble far too often. While he had no intention to change that and took quite the pride in riling up certain parties, another person was worth making an effort for to make one request. "I feel... responsible." 

The sincerity voiced with such difficulty tipped the balance in his favour. After studying his face carefully, Trevelyan relinquished the cloth and made room for the mage to kneel beside the omega.

Dorian ran the wet cloth over the creased forehead to wash away a layer of sweat and grime. He was gentle in tracing the fair features. As he did so, the signs of distress eased from them. His lips tingled bound by recent memories, what it felt like having his mouth pressed tight against the firm lips, and gliding over the stubborn chin and eyes closed in concentration. It was too tempting to lean in and drop another kiss on a scratchy, stubble covered jaw. 

"You don't have questions regarding consent?" he asked the Inquisitor who was judging his progress. "I'm surprised to be spared the interrogation."

"Questions perhaps, not suspicions. The body language doesn't lie. He was clinging to you in sleep like you were his comfort and reassurance. Even in heat, the person who suffered abuse would have subconsciously distanced himself from the one who assaulted him." 

Satisfied that most of the offending grime was removed, the mage dunked his handkerchief into the basin and folded it like a compress to place onto omega's forehead. The cool water stung his bruised knuckles.

"I will ask him as well once he wakes up," Trevelyan added confident he would get the truth. 

As it was reasonable, Dorian nodded. The water was turning a used up colour after he washed the cloth in it again, but he wanted to do as much as possible and lowered the blanket down to omega's chest to clean up his neck and shoulders.

"Am I correct in assuming he has this day to recover?" 

"We all do," Trevelyan ran a hand across his forehead and for the first time Dorian noted the stress lines creasing his face. "We have been pushing the pace hard for a whole week to make as much distance from Haven as possible in case any of the opposing forces survived and could pick up the trail. Breaking camp and staying in one spot for one more night will grant all of us rest." 

"There were supplies in the pilgrim cave," Dorian remembered. "A few sacks filled with beans and grains." 

Trevelyan promised to retrieve everything closer to the evening once the scent would subside. They both wandered whether the rumour was going to be contained or perhaps it was already running rampant. While Dorian had taken care to gather Cullen's clothes, the plate armour and boots were left in the cave and had to be collected as well. The mage climbed to his feet reluctantly, loathe to get out of the tent where hostility and too many questions were waiting to ambush him. The armour was too valuable to leave in a hole and he didn't want to involve anyone else in this private matter.

"Should you wish, you may return and stay to oversee his recovery," Trevelyan offered taking it upon himself to justify Dorian's presence need be.

The mage wanted to add, providing nothing brought his untimely demise out of the various available death opportunities including the evil, annihilating stares, but he was too tired and answered what lay at the surface.

"Thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

The opportunity to return to the Inquisitor's tent never arose. Personal mission aside, there were always a dozen incidents waiting to ambush the aware and unaware. Their pack animals would run off into the blue only to be found hours later on the ledges seemingly impossible to climb for such large creatures. The children would follow their suit and vanish, riling up their mothers into abandoning cooking that would obviously catch fire, while they frantically searched for the errant offspring. And so on it went until the man willing to fix all these problems dropped unconscious and became someone else's problem. 

In all this chaos, Dorian got to see Cullen only the following morning as the omega stepped out of the Trevelyan's tent. Lacking energy in movement, he seemed pale. His hair wasn't entirely smoothed. One lock escaped their fold to drape across the creased forehead. This brief view got quickly veiled by a crowd of the well-wishers inquiring about his health and poising some urgent questions accumulated while he was unconscious. They all had the freedom to approach and exchange their smiles for his shy one. Some tapped his shoulder and back in reassurance. Commander would rub the back of his neck and look bewildered by the excessive attention. Dorian imaged a faint blush taking residence on his cheeks; all the while he watched from afar, separated and encased in a defensive shell of ice. Dorian grasped his staff tight as his fingers twitched craving touch, while raking his soul in lay hollowness. 

The Inquisitor called to break camp and the time fell into its regular rhythm, the mayhem in which Dorian had to put his trust into an elf with a questionable love for the Fade creatures whom the Tevinter mage did not trust at all.

He managed to approach Cullen after dusk when he was alone once they stopped for the night and the campfires rose to warm up the ground for rest. Too many still lacked even the basic comforts of a tent.

Neither found the immediate words, gazing at each other and letting the campsite voices flurry around them from the short distance. Before the heat, they were sharing the markings of a developing friendship. Losing it instilled the sense of trepidation, yet, keeping it was like holding onto a misshaped piece of the puzzle that came from a different picture, beautiful and no longer fitting. Something changed between them and neither knew what to do about it.

"I wanted to thank you," Cullen dared disturb their screaming silence. 

"And I wanted to apologize. Biting you was inexcusably rude."

Claiming someone had always been a controversial issue. In the committed relationships the love bites were regarded as the intention to court and form a family with the partner. While in different circumstances, the bites were degrading like staking a claim to an expensive trinket. 

A vicious gust of wind hurled a handful of snow at them. Cullen shivered. Without thinking, Dorian pulled the cloak off his shoulders and draped it around the omega. He stilled bewildered within the arm's length. His hands rested on the warrior's shoulders. This instinct to take care of another caught him off guard. Dorian didn't know he was capable of it. All his life he considered himself an opportunist who strived taking what was convenient without delving too deep into the emotional entanglements. The attachments were too dangerous when one had to balance a fair share of power. Unquestionably, his partners sought to get the better of him. 

Cullen was like no other. The omega sought no favours to strengthen his influence or position. The honey coloured eyes resting on him bore no secret agenda. They were filled with dismay and faint hope. He must have fallen asleep and dreamt it up because the warrior closed the distance between them. His rough lips dropped a kiss onto Dorian's cheek and then he was off, slipping out of the alpha's arms and running away towards the camp. 

For a long time, Dorian remained rooted to one spot warmed by this fleeting touch and finding no answers what's to be done next until the howling of wolves that had stalked their group seeking isolate victims reminded him that their foremost mission was to survive.

The solution developed naturally over the course of the following days. Cullen continued socialising with him as before. Reversing the roles, he was the one who brought a steaming cup of tea to the alpha the following evening when Dorian found some semblance of peace by the fire. The omega set his own cup on the bench. Rather than habitually resting an elbow on a bent knee and letting his arm dangle, he outstretched his legs towards the fire and tilted his head back. 

The motion exposed his neck, bringing up recent memories, lips gliding along the sweaty skin. It was enough to slightly push aside the furry collar to gain the view of the gradually fading bite mark. Not many presented a vulnerable spot in Dorian's presence. This subconscious sign of trust was reaching into a secluded part of him that shied from delving into the feelings too complex to resolve on the mountain slope.

"Nothing to say, I'll take that as excellent news," Dorian remarked, his voice glibber than he felt as he caught two priests across the fire sceptically regarding them. "Not that I ever complain," the alpha mock scowled at the dubious chuckle that uplifted the corners of Cullen's mouth and bent the white scar touching upon his lips, "but lately an excess of exciting news never hails the coming of the Maker to shower us with gifts for our exemplary behaviour such a marvellous castle that contains shining chandeliers and many, many fine bathtubs. They rather imply the presence of an ill-mannered bear fancying himself the local owner of everything and traversing his kingdom surely awakens his foul-temper and appetite, the second being convenient for removing all offending trespassers from his premises."

"I hear Tevinter nobility are outstanding negotiators." 

"I fear bears aren't susceptible to the Northern charms nor agreeable to the terms of accepting a cup of poisoned wine as part of the negotiations."

"They make excellent covers regardless." Cullen dropped his hand onto Dorian's arm where the sleeve was dissected by three lines. A little lower and the razor claws would have just as smoothly sliced the muscles. The omega's voice didn't lower. Unrepentant of the open gesture, he leaned in closer. "I'm glad you're all right."

Then he was distanced again, taking a sip from his cup and Dorian followed his suit left with another small memento to drift in his mind. There was no awkwardness sitting side by side enjoying short rest before they'd be hurled into braving the mountains at daybreak. To an outside observer little changed between them, but everything did change like the way Cullen's fingers brushed his when he passed the cup and the exchange taking longer than appropriate while being far too brief, calling to do it over and over. There were moments when they thought no one watching, letting hands be held and released at the danger of being discovered. Their journey was far too strenuous to risk disapproval and hostility in a closely travelling group where every person depended on another. His heart was foolishly leaping at the signs of affection, while his minded scolded the inappropriate impulses. 

Lost in daydreams, Dorian bumped into a Templar who shot him a look of regret that Ferelden Circles lay disbanded. The impact jolted the mage quick enough into possession of reality and he sidestepped the metal obstacle in favour of investigating the commotion ahead. 

There were echoes of multiple voices coming from a narrow crack that twisted across the slope. Before anyone took objection to the mage slipping under a guard's elbow to satisfy curiosity, the Commander emerged from the passage. His face was a shade of green that looked flattering only on poison ivy. The omega's well being was further accented by him bracing against the wall to heave. 

"Ugh! I hear ya, Curly," the dwarf following him out wore a disgusted grimace. "Thought I'd also leave my guts behind and I've seen lots of ugly things at Kirkwall."

Dorian used this chance to glide smoothly towards them. "While I had intended to appreciate the view, there seems to be a fine reason to pass," he remarked.

"Unless you appreciate lost travellers who found no better source of food than mauling each other." There was a protesting cough at the gory description and Varric offered a reassuring slap onto Commander's back before smartly moving out of the line of fire to be on his way. "You'll have way more fun watching Curly here puke due to the scenery and the last time I checked he wasn't squeamish." 

"One more reason to sleep less at night," Dorian offered, risking to come closer to the omega and wishing comforting was more of his forte. 

Looking like not much would promote another round of getting turned inside out, Cullen wiped his chin and lips with Dorian's handkerchief. "It keeps coming to my rescue," he remarked softly enough so only the alpha could hear him. "I'm sorry, I have recognised it as yours but have forgotten to return it." 

"Such trivialities. It certainly doesn't look too appealing to take back at present. With all my blessings, I do wish you to keep it as I am little enamoured by decorative puke." 

"I imagine so," Cullen flushed and swiftly stuffed the crumpled and soggy item into his pocket away from offended sight, thinking himself ill presentable. "I... excuse me." 

The alpha pretended he did not watch the dismal retreat even if his insides churched with guilt. He certainly had the talent for pushing people away, especially those overly attractive. While for the most part the Commander was quite adept at handling his biting remarks, one never knew when they'd hit a sore spot. Making light of the situation when Cullen felt embarrassed for appearing weak was bound to shake the omega's confidence. Doing his best to look like he was indifferent to the omega's departure, Dorian wandered how soon the blond warrior would be predisposed to forgive him and dreaded the reconciliation. 

For the following two days, Dorian found no one to share a cup of tea with by the fire. While he wasn't an isolated curmudgeon, there were others amiable to his charm and wit such as Varric who always assembled a circle of interested listeners, it seemed Dorian's mood was set on suffering misery away from the social graces. The solution lay in approaching Cullen. This surrender implied admitting a growing attachment that sooner or later would have to be quenched. Quite unwise. The omega was prone to taking everything seriously. Dorian wasn't so heartless as to encourage this relationship only to explain later that it served to satisfy physical needs. For someone looking to satisfy selfish needs, he certainly was fussing too much how the another person would feel. 

Dorian jammed the door of doubt shut and frowned at the sky. It was restless. Thick clouds were cluttering the sky. From them spun and waltz many snowflakes. Large and fluffy they covered the earth ankle deep in the encroaching nightfall where the figures of those walking several steps ahead were beginning to blur into obscurity. The complete absence of scouts suggested they were bearing the hard task of finding shelter. The Orlesians truly were crazy. Whoever wanted to conquer a country with a weather like that? 

It got colder. The wind picked up, turning snowflakes into the brittle projectiles that pelted the skin and stuck to the eyelashes turning the world into a maze. In between the wind howls came distressed animal snorts and human shouts willing to risk mouthfuls of snow to be sure they did not get detached from the group. 

"It's about time," Varric's voice boomed through the dimming curtain. Deeper into the rising snow level than his companions, he was an undefined blob. "Thought I should start practicing how to breathe under snow."

Squinting, Dorian noticed a nimble figure slipping past them. Despite a tightly drawn hood, he recognised Harding. Sure enough they soon heard a low sound that signalled the group to turn eastward. In the swirling haze, Dorian had lost track of time when they finally reached shelter. It looked like someone had grabbed a giant spoon to scoop a chunk out of the mountainside. While the entry point was quite wide, the overhanging rocks and three closed off sides offered protection from the slashing wind that had taken offence at the human attempts to secure themselves. It furiously pulled onto the ropes and clothes thwarting their efforts, ultimately losing ground.

When almost everyone managed to huddle together out of its clutches, Dorian's foot caught onto unknown entity. Be it an ill placed rock or a body of a long gone adventurer, this tossed him into the adversary's fury. Scraping knees and elbows he was dragged along until his foot hit solid wall. Gratified, he braced against it, in the blind searching the ground for his staff torn out of his grasp until the wind generously decided to slam its trophy straight into the seeker's face drawing blood from a lower lip. The impact didn't scatter his wits enough to lose the opportunity at regaining his livelihood. There remained the tricky matter of unpinning himself from the unflattering position. The icy mass did not yield as his hands blazed up in an attempt to melt a handhold. His fingers were growing stiffer, the body clumsier as his eternal nemesis the cold was gaining an upper hand. 

Gradually, without panic came acceptance that he lacked the physical strength to move. There were people nearby, but his throat clenched and thoughts lingered on the futility of crying out. Dorian didn't immediately recognise when an arm securely wrapped around his waist and he was pulled against a living person who dragged most of his weight to a safer spot. A cover fell over them, protecting from wind and snow where they huddled together in the secure darkness against a wall. 

His rescuer's scent was unmistakable. Cullen. He was sprawled all over the omega, gradually recovering from shock and very much resembling a spooked cat that clung to comfort. Gloved fingers came to rest on his neck to check the pulse, and then Cullen placed a hand over his back and rubbed it carefully. 

"I don't like being cold or dead," Dorian didn't think his feeble complaint would be heard, but he sensed Cullen's chuckle vibrate through his chest. Most likely the omega guessed his words. Since there was no objection the stroking resumed lulling him into a half-dreaming state.

The natural forces were very much conspiring to have him sit intertwined with another man safe and content in the heart of the storm. The wind and snow hid them from judgement and immodest eyes that had so often thwarted his impulses to approach Cullen and deviously stump the easily flustered omega with a refined compliment. The cocooned silence brimmed with attraction senseless to deny. 

"Here. I've meant to return it after all," Cullen had to lean in closely to be heard. His lips accidentally brushed Dorian's ear tip. 

The alpha was presented with a perfectly clean if a bit damp handkerchief. Cullen had washed the delicate material in an icy stream that turned his hands angry red. 

"Keep it," Dorian reached out. "Please. That was uncharitable of me to deny how much I am comforted by you having something of mine that helps you." 

The bridge of his nose bumped into Cullen's chin, their cheeks brushed and pricked, while bruised lips sought the scarred ones awkwardly in the blind. They were like two lantern lights, dim and flickering in danger of being put out, yet enduring to seek each other out across a great distance. Finding. Merging into a stronger flame. There were ice pellets stuck in the omega's stubble. They were not melting, but Dorian thought he was, shaken by the mind's whisper how there was much to be found in the frozen wasteland; like affection, like love.


	6. Chapter 6

The storage room was a compilation of the loose boards and cobwebs illumined by the pale winter light filtering through a narrow battlements window. When Cullen shifted the bulk to reveal a sturdy if worn bookshelf, a fat spider plopped onto his head and scuttled off with a menacing hiss at having his domain invaded. Two rungs snapped under his weight and Cullen pulled himself up to the next level that lay hardly roofed, pleased that at least the floor held his weight securely. He thought it would be possible to assemble a bed as one wasn't going to fit through the entry. Being able to sleep right above his office, and that's exactly what he intended to claim the space for, would have made him available to the messengers at any time. All he needed was a sizeable desk. 

Not trusting the stairs, another thing to add to the repair list, Cullen leapt down winching at the jolt to his joints. He wasn't so young anymore to count on natural regeneration to breeze him past the endless life endangering stunts performed over the course of his life. 

Spotting a green tunic, he hurried to the courtyard while their quartermaster Threnn remained more or less crowd free. He had to wait regardless while the Inquisition supplier wedged a battle with a shoulder tall man whose primary feature was an outstanding nose that continuously shifted his balance face-closer to the ground. Frankly, he looked like an utter scoundrel. Behind them stood a cart loaded with barrels secured by the Inquisition. What did not coincide was the form of payment if the high pitched voices were anything to go by. 

As one of the lids was cracked open, Cullen peeked inside to discover a batch of the sauerkraut that looked quite good to sample. It was crunchy and nourishing, a welcome change from the dry rations they were subjected to during their perilous journey. At times he had skipped even those scanty meals by charity, but lately prompted by minor unrest in his stomach. The danger of going hungry had not abandoned them yet even at the gates of Skyhold. From an isolated area, the Inquisition had a monumental task of establishing trade and securing the food supplies. In spite of having stone walls around them, many still remained out in the tents due to the castle disrepair. The tradesman who came to offer his goods figured as much. Of course he hadn't anticipated encountering such an experienced trade master. At last, having gained little ground in overestimating his worth but not discontent, the man pulled his furry hat lower over his ears and stalked off in the direction of Seggrit who worked diligently on re-establishing his shop. This freed their quartermaster to signal her helpers to begin unloading the cart. 

"I'm glad someone found this batch edible," she commented tartly, still miffed by the exchange. 

Caught with his hand literally in their food supplies, the Commander paused, awkwardly clutching a handful of sauerkraut. Apparently after the sampling he hadn't stopped eating unwittingly. Judging by the dent, he managed admirably diminishing their supplies. While he had preserved a largely untouched share of the rations, it was hardly commendable nicking from the undistributed batch. Since he couldn't put it back, Cullen settled on finishing off what was left in his hand while Threnn expressed her frustration. 

"This scoundrel claims he came to assist the Inquisition. From what I gather, he had greatly soured the preserves that were suppose to last him through the winter. Since he wants none of the taste, he reckoned he found the foolish volunteers to pay up an equivalent in different supplies he could get from the nearest settlements. This would compensate his culinary disaster just fine. Short as we are on supplies, I felt it was best to bargain with him regardless, but do encourage your men not to turn their noses up at the next few meals. They won't be sweet."

"I'm sure they'll be grateful not to go hungry. I any case, I perceive no problem with this food. Not that I've ever been picky." 

Dubiously, Threnn risked another handful, thinking she may have been mistaken due to the positive feedback, and grimaced like she had licked a soured shoe. 

"I suppose there is no accounting for taste, but I doubt you came to discuss my culinary preferences. How may I help you Commander?" 

"I require a large desk for my office," he explained as she hurried to take notes and fill out a requisition. "A bed would be good to have too, but it's not a priority."

The wooden office floor was far more comfortable than the frozen ground to secure his bedroll and drop off to sleep hidden from the piercing wind. One thing the exhaustion was good for was warding off the insomnia. If he felt ambitious about comfort, fixing the roof and obtaining a brazier would have been the future steps he didn't want to mention while everyone needed a safe place to rest. 

Reassured that she'll do her best to get the desk, the Commander thanked Threnn and hurried up the central stairway towards the main hall least a messenger or two would catch up and put an end to his attempt at domesticity. 

Would Dorian be more inclined to spend the evenings in his company if he allowed more creature comforts to permeate his surroundings? Wanting a bed while he was content using a blanket may have stemmed from the interest to see the alpha curled up on the sheets like a large cat, scrutinising the pages of a sizeable tome. There were other things beds were good for dreaming of which in broad daylight led to embarrassing accidents. 

The main hall was in the same state of disrepair as his office, presenting all sorts of navigational obstacles. Yet, even in the current state there was majesty in the solar bleaks of blue, gold and red pouring through the stained glass windows and making the cobwebs glimmer like rainbows. One of those bleaks dropped onto the nose of the familiar five year old crawling through dust in search of the broken mosaic pieces. Next to him, Gatti presented a lengthily history tirade, which the child ignored mostly interested in piecing together the ornament. In the workers’ hands lay a sense of optimism that trumped the lingering weariness from their perilous journey. Cullen too drew power from the uplifted spirits as recently he felt the occasional lack of energy threatening to overcome him. It was not related to his lyrium withdrawal. The reason eluded him while there was nagging at the back of his mind hinting he should know why. 

“Is there anything I can help with?” Thessa inquired. He must have been admiring her son long enough to draw her attention. 

“I was looking for a spare broom,” Cullen gestured through the widely open doors across the courtyard where his office was going to be. “I need to establish a workplace and understandably the place is a mess.” 

“Commander.”

Cullen sighed, resigned to live at his temporary workbench under the stairs as his attempt at domesticity was interrupted by an eager officer who thrust a bunch of papers under his nose. He levelled an apologetic smile at the woman for disturbing her and off he was hurled into the strategic Skyhold establishment. 

He managed to get away when the thick battlements shadows merged into viscous dark that lulled the anthill activity, except for a few hubs where lingered those not-succumbing to the call of their bedrolls. While the social call wasn’t too appealing, his mind was too abuzz to settle for rest immediately. Combined with a minor nudge that a handful of sauerkraut wasn’t sufficient nourishment, the consideration prompted him to nudge the tavern door open. 

The place was packed if the voices ran subdued. The cracked and sputtering lanterns in spite of their age and barely wiped glass isolated the tavern like a warmth offering island in the majestic if cold outlines of the mountains. 

Dorian too was there, maintaining aloofness. His eyes discretely rested on Cullen the moment he walked in. Following their pull, Cullen slipped into the empty space next to the mage, doing his best to avoid trampling a toe or two. Predictably, the task was a failure, but none called him out on their abused limbs. 

For the lack of space, their knees were touching, a prospect Dorian took advantage of. His knee brushed against Cullen’s thigh. The antic was contrasted by a perfectly cordial facial expression. 

“How good of you to join me,” he greeted, letting the knee retreat the same path it came. 

The barkeep flopped a third-full bowl of the watery gruel onto their table. The most accommodating part about it was the plate washed in a hurry. 

“My favourite part about this meal is wandering what it’s composed of,” Dorian uttered not unsympathetically. “I found it best washed down by ale.” The mage nudged his still untouched tankard towards Cullen uncertain if this was his fourth or fifth. The brew was in great demand with nearly every visitor keeping their mugs close at hand. 

Warming up his courage for the gruel Cullen took a sip and thought he had consumed a mouthful of ghoul’s bathing water, which he forcefully swallowed for the sake of decorum. The abominable substance rose back up and he sputtered, earning a glare from a dwarf whose sleeve got coated in the rejected ale. Seeing the severe coughing fit, the other nonetheless relented.

A soothing energy seeped into his back where Dorian placed his hand. In a few brief moments away from his side, the mage had acquired a cup of water. With the queasiness boiling up it was best to step outside away from the room full of sweaty armpits accompanying the longest work day. 

Dorian didn’t abandon him as Cullen stumbled out. The chill abated the ill sensations as the omega took a few cautious breaths. 

“I don’t think the barkeep will let me back inside, considering such a blatant disrespect for the house finest." 

"How fortunate of you to share the exile with a sinfully attractive mage." 

Dorian was pressed to his side for the personal benefit of obtaining an accommodating brazier. The cold waylaid Skyhold enough to make the branches crack. What was happening between them? It was too volatile to ask, to make any promises. A mutual physical attraction perhaps. Whatever the case, he wanted to indulge it. 

Dorian met him half way when Cullen tentatively leaned closer. The kiss bore a note of starvation denied far too often on the road. It had bitter tang of the brew mixed with the spicy taste that solely belonged to the alpha.

"I can't help thinking about you when I don't see you."

It was far too sappy confession, but there was alternative as they broke apart and Dorian rested his forehead against his. Since their arrival, he saw less of Dorian than on the road. The thoughts of the alpha floated around whenever he let his mind slip even for an instance. 

"Someone distracting the valiant Commander from work? I'm flattered," the mage muttered, but it lacked the dramatic flare or bite.

There was the small pang upon receiving no confirmation that he was missed too. It had to be enough. Dorian's kisses showed enough interest.

"I will have to find a way for us to spend more time together," the mage promised like the task was as good as done with his natural charm and grace ensuring it.

So, there was more to it after all than desire for physical closeness. Dorian wanted to spend more time with him. The mage snorted at the enthusiastic squeeze this suggestion received. 

The tavern door creaked with a man in high spirits stumbling out. His appearance announced by a brawny song. Then there was Dorian clutching his hand tight and pulling him along into solitude towards the battlements and the stars.


	7. Chapter 7

There was floundering warmth in his stomach identified as happiness as Cullen occasionally glanced up from his workbench across the courtyard unable to resist the temptation of watching Dorian deeply immersed in the conversation with the Inquisitor. The mage's gesticulation was lively and the posture showed no signs of tension. It happened whenever Dorian encountered a listener capable of not only taking his ideas seriously with the readiness to implement them, but also understanding. He tended to be free like this like a door that was hiding so many fine qualities was edging open for those who could appreciate, peek in and wander. The omega loved it so.

There was a thin layer of frost encroaching on his work space. Cullen wiped it off clearing the surface when the gloved hand went blurry and the workbench tilted along with the ground. He took a wobbly step sideway and ended up dropping onto a bottom step of the public stairway next to which he had set up his temporary post. 

He may have slid down further had a warm shoulder not appeared allowing him to lean against it. Battling dizziness, his mind reeled in confusion what could have caused it. He hadn't been doing anything strenuous and he had eaten something in the morning. 

"You're not resting," Cole stated accusingly. The spirit's timely intervention prevented his fall, but Cullen was uneasy how each time he would appear out of nowhere and invade his mind. Lately, Cole seemed to be hovering near him more often than next to anyone else.

"Cullen! Are you all right?" Dorian dropped onto his knees next to him and gathered his hands.

"He's not resting!" Cole exclaimed forcefully, demanding to have someone pay attention to his words. Maxwell regarded him seriously. The spirit seemed highly agitated. "He should be resting!" 

"Perhaps we should take Cole's advice," 

"Inquisitor, I'm fine! I'll get up in a moment," Cullen insisted. It wasn't even a healer ordering him to take a nap right in the middle of the day. 

"Overworking yourself until you fall flat on your face is a fine way to be fine," Dorian drawled out. There were moments when Cullen wanted to strangle his... it was tempting to say lover, but aside from the cave they hadn't shared intimacy again. 

"Commander, you are irreplaceable, but I cannot ask you to put so much strain on your health. It would be best for you to take a few hours off and rest."

The suggestion sounded like it would become an order if need be. Defeated, Cullen allowed the Inquisitor to help him up where Dorian's arm wrapped around his wait and kept him vertical. Maxwell intercepted a messenger heading for Cullen and re-directed him to one of the Captains.

"You do seem more tired than usual lately," Dorian murmured close to his ear. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt." 

There was certain tenderness in his voice that put a lump in omega's throat and he felt his eyes water slightly. He was being sulky when Dorian worried about him. This mellowed his predicament and he allowed the mage to lead him back to his new accommodations. 

Cullen was pleasantly surprised when coming in a few days later to make another attempt at domesticating his future office, he found the floor carefully swept and washed on both floors, and the bookshelf stood dusted. He suspected it was the elf maid's doing in gratitude for extracting her son out of the numerous tacky predicaments. Hence the requisitions were completed in chaotic order, Cullen found himself still deskless, but in a possession of a fine bed. Its merit still to be tested. 

Dorian was less impressed and wrinkled his nose in distaste at the glaring hole in the roof. After using a heating spell on the sheets, he announced commander's sleeping quarters a slight improvement over a spider cave. 

Unsteady on his feet, Cullen was fumbling with the buckles, slowly peeling his armour off. Once the heavy pieces were removed, he dropped onto the bed heavily, sleepier with each passing moment. "You don't need to..." he mumbled as Dorian kneeled in front of him and pulled one of the boots off. The mage tisked and shushed him. Having removed the shoes, Dorian dropped next to him on the bed. His fingers dug into his curls and massaged the base of the skull. Cullen kissed the bronze cheek to which the mage chuckled and pulled him into a proper kiss, which got interrupted by a yawn. 

"You're so adorable when you're sleepy that I don't have the heart to scold you for napping when someone as attractive as me is around," the mage huffed all the while his hands ghosted over the warrior, removing the rest of his clothes until he was stripped down to the smallclothes and motioned to lie down. The pillow met his head like a friend. Dorian fussed, tucking the blanket around him and glaring daggers at the draft that came from the hole in the roof.

He wanted to reassure Dorian that the hole was a temporary arrangement, but the words were too big and clumsy for his mouth and the eyes were relentlessly sliding shut. Dorian dropped a kiss onto omega's forehead as the blond drifted off. 

Cheerful, pure, the kind that gladdened the heart, in his dream Cullen was surrounded by the children's laughter. Turning this way and that, he kept looking around in search of the source only capturing the flickering sunlight and then heard the tapping of the tiny feet running around that accompanied him into awakening. 

A delicate hand was stroking his cheek when his eyes opened. The first wondrous sight greeting him was the alpha. "That's a nice way to wake up," he murmured, attempting a sneaky kiss by rising up on his elbow. 

"Mmmm... morning breath or should I say evening," the mage chuckled and kissed him back when Cullen dropped against the pillow. There were stars shining through the roof. 

"I have salvaged your dinner before every crumb got absorbed by the appreciative mob," the mage announced, willing someone to appreciate his heroic feat. 

Cullen thanked him with another kiss, perplexed how he had slept through half of the day. The tray consisted of mashed potatoes, meat and carrots. The mage must have kept it warm. The delicious scent rising from the meal awakened his appetite. Cullen quickly washed up and tucked into the plate before his stomach changed its mind. It seemed in a flux either refusing to take even one bite only to be replaced by outstanding hunger the following day like it was making up for the lost time.

"You seem to be regaining lost weight," Dorian ran his fingers over the warrior's protruding ribs. At least the concave stomach pit that emerged during their march to Skyhold was filling up. 

Cullen scraped every bit off the plate, short of licking it. "I should be getting back to work. I can't believe I've slept this long." 

"Work? It's midnight. Even those who work after work are not working," Dorian's hand slid lower between his thighs, on the way giving a pat to his stomach and stirring a butterflies flock in there. 

Cullen's breath quickened. The way the alpha was regarding him made his whole body ache. In one fluent motion he was toppled into the pillows. Dorian's knees sunk into the mattress, thighs squeezing Cullen's sides. The alpha hovered over him. Teasingly, he caressing the unclothed body. The omega lay mesmerised by his partner's elegant movement. 

"You are surely remiss, forgetting to invite me into this nice, new bed," the mage purred very close to touching his lips. "I've been waiting endlessly to get you away from all those immodest eyes." 

Notwithstanding his own teasing, Dorian closed the distance between them. Their lips and bodies merged. Like those who have been long separated, hungry for touch, they made love. After that Cullen slept again, wandering if his body was making up for all those long heartless years. 

His desk arrived not a day later, submerging the Inquisition Commander in a whirlwind of work more productive since the alpha had taken off with the Inquisitor on a new venture. The distraction was necessary, otherwise, his mind tended to drift imagining how Dorian was braving the wilds. He would complain bitterly how the camps lacked basic civilised comforts and keep in his stash a few jars to minimise the elements damage to his skin. 

There were fresh webs spun in the upper corner of his office. The spider was peering at Cullen from them in stark disapproval. 

"Come on. I dare say my job is more important than you catching flies."

The critter huffed. Nothing was more important than him catching flies. After spending hours hunched over the papers, the warrior leaned back in his wobbly chair and stretched catching a faint crack in his back. The waistband was sinking into his stomach uncomfortably. Cullen pulled up his shirt to loosen the laces only to discover they were sufficiently loose already. Frowning at the revelation, the blond rose to unlace them fully and lowered the pants onto his hips. Pulling up his shirt high and at an awkward angle, Cullen critically examined his midsection. The gradual changes became more significant than he thought. The usual flat planes and abdomen muscles had softened. His stomach obtained a slightly protruding outline. 

Commander dropped into the chair, abruptly pulling it towards the desk with a screech and firmly pressing his chest to the table edge as the door flew open, him getting the briefest warning from a brisk knock. A scout walked in carrying a fresh pile of reports. 

"There was no permission to enter!" commander barked at him although he had never objected before and preferred to stand less on the ceremony. "Put them down and you may leave," he added hastily when the scout froze to stammer apologies. Cullen tried his best not to squirm at the scout got close, all too aware that his pants were still down revealing everything indecent. Had his reaction been slower, he would have been caught in a rather questionable pose in the middle of his office. 

Once the door clicked shut again he straightened the clothes surreptitiously like the spider was capable of giving him away. His concentration vanished and hands travelled back to feel his stomach. He forewent the heavy armour this day as there seemed to be less space under it. What if... he smacked a knee against the edge of the desk getting up sharply to pace in the space not quite designed for it. A few steps to the bookshelf and a few to the other wall. Dorian was an alpha in prime. Although male omegas could only conceive in heat their odds matched with alphas were high. 

Providing his assumption was right, should there not have been outward signs? Cullen was familiar with the early pregnancy horror stories how the first few weeks bound the mother to be to the privy seeing nothing but the round hole hours to no end each day. He had felt queasy and thrown up a few times, however, seeing a pile of corpses tended to sicken anyone. So far the only sign he picked up was the rounded stomach, which could have been a sign of anything. The lyrium withdrawals wrecked his body and he was spending a lot more time at the desk shuffling papers rather than training. 

Vividly, he pictured the Chantry sisters, mostly re-assigned by the Inquisition to assist the healers, who behind faith tended to hide grandiose love for gossip. Consulting them felt unreliable. He could be wrong, wishful thinking mistaking the extra weight for a child. This faux pas would be carried across Thedas to make the Inquisition a laughing stock. 

Most likely he was mistaken. A deep seeded wish he kept secret was playing a cruel trick on his mind. Far more than embarrassment he feared this inborn hope and ultimate disappointment how there would be no child and no tiny hand to hold. There was a painful pang in his heart. With effort, Cullen snapped a box where lived hope shut and returned to reality where ink and maps were waiting for his hand to move the Inquisition forces still vulnerable and yet gaining strength in faith and numbers.


	8. Chapter 8

The question which left Cullen distracted posed itself with renewed vigour several days later in the face of another pompous noble or rather in the form of a suffocating perfume cloud, dripping sweat underneath, which accompanied him. It was possible to run fingers through its dense tendrils. Like anyone entitled to nothing, yet capable of creating a great disturbance with their booming complaints, the man gesticulated wildly, constantly infringing on Commander’s private space. Cullen’s stomach was riling in protest. Bearing a toxic resemblance to an unfortunate mixture of spoiled oranges and rotten eggs, the stench made his eyes water. 

For the fear of bile rising past his lips, Commander was keeping his mouth tightly shut only nodding in some places and wandering what happened to Josephine designated to deal with these types of emergencies. 

The man’s elbow sunk into his ribs nearly forcing the omega to spill the content of his stomach. His armpits emanated something awful. Cullen had a creeping suspicion that their shrewd ambassador was intentionally avoiding their guest. After what felt like hours, the man strolled away reinforcing his significance with a huff just when the sick omega’s endurance came to an end. 

Cullen’s stomach was torn by a spasm that shot pain into his joints and brought him to his knees. The first bout covered the floor in the sickly mess and another wave followed close on its hills. His head was ringing like one of the Sera’s bee bombs had exploded inside it. The retching fit was lasting and painful, leaving him shaky in the aftermath. His body complied sluggishly when Cullen found the energy to roll aside from the dire mess and wiped his mouth with his glove. The stone floor was unmerciful jutting into his bones, but he didn’t have the immediate strength to get up. 

His mind was calling for Dorian, wishing he could find comfort in the alpha’s arms. The mage would wrinkle his nose in distaste prior to insisting on a nice bath. With the passionate kisses, he would lure Cullen into a pile of the preposterously soft pillows before sauntering away, lending a special sway to his hips, to draw a proper bath involving critically selected oils and scented candles. The omega wiped his face, realising there were moisture tracks decorating his cheeks. No matter how much work he tackled, the feeling of emptiness crept up on him gradually until it developed into a steady ache. He missed his lover dearly. Cullen wiped the tears away a bit more aggressively. He was being ridiculous crying over a few weeks separation. Lately, he was becoming increasingly nauseous as well as weepy. Of course, the situation was ambiguous. Anyone would have gotten sick with the rotten egg bomb shoved under their nose, but that didn’t explain his excessive anxiety at being parted from the alpha. Pushing himself to his feet with difficulty, Cullen succumbed to the inevitable. Whether he was expecting or not, he couldn’t be so selfish as to endanger through ignorance a tiny being possibly developing in his womb. He was responsible for consulting a healer. 

The remainder of the day was wasted in the jumble of anxiety and underperformed tasks. He’d begin penning down a letter only to discover he was printing Dorian’s name repeatedly, each letter crafted delicately and with love that called for his missing partner to return. The lasting separation was physically painful. Commander gave up on the unfinished tasks only when daylight faded away replaced by the Skyhold amber lights lurking in the half-curtained windows. The omega mastered his courage to leave his office and advanced stealthily across the courtyard where he bypassed the healing wing. He came to a halt at Adan’s new shop only to freeze in place counting his breaths while his hand was raised listlessly to knock and ready to flee at the slightest provocation. 

The door opened on its own volition and moderate weight bumped into his arm raised to protect his stomach. 

“Commander,” Adan took a respectful step back. It looked like he was ready to turn in for the night. The door, wedged a crack open, revealed workspace where the potions and jars were safely tucked into their places. “Has someone strained a muscle in training or do you require the deadlier aspects of my potions?” 

“N-no. No one’s hurt.”

Adans eyebrows gradually climbed to the hairline since for the longest time no further information was offered and Commander’s face was deepening to cherry red. “Perhaps you’d care to elaborate on your extremely important secret?” he ventured irritably since his half a year pending experiments were going to expire before Cullen would speak. “It appears safe enough as there are only two of us present.”

“I’m not confident there are only two of us,” Cullen wasn’t going to confess that his voice came more like a squeak. 

Adan glanced around like they were surrounded by the invisible enemies ready to spring from an ambush and Commander came to subtly ask him for some erosive potion to deal with the threat. His eyes bulged at the following admission.

“I have spent the last heat with an alpha and…”

“Step inside!” Adan nudged the door wide open with his foot only to lock it firmly when the omega entered his shop. “Pee into this,” he thrust a jar into Cullen’s hands sparing no extra explanations and having no desire to find out the details. 

“Mind you, during the Haven servitude as a healer even when I have numerously claimed not being one, I’ve encountered similar and odder inquiries, but pray tell why stage the awkwardness meeting with me now that we’ve got a castle overflowing with noisy, gossipy, great for the mindless cooing and drooling over a potential bundle of joy… never mind. It’s quite evident why,” he ranted while the flustered omega hid behind the screen. 

“Here. Take a seat while I examine the sample,” in a rare bout of hospitality, Adan nudged a chair towards his patient once the nervous omega emerged. 

Nervously, Cullen perched on its edge waiting. Adan poured half of the jar content into a flask and sprinkled blue powder, proceeding to stir it methodically. 

“Regardless of the result, I appreciate your discretion,” the omega offered. “I’m sorry for troubling you. I felt you were most trustworthy.” 

“I suppose you can’t be blamed for the common sense to address someone capable of keeping secrets,” in spite of his grumbling, Adan sounded pleased to be considered trustworthy. “It seems your assumption is correct,” he announced. “I have not been mistaken once with these analyses.”

“I’m pregnant,” saying it out loud tumbled a dream, flickering in his mind like a candle flame, into reality. This reality had arrived with the symptoms, the nausea and his middle subtly nudging against his loosened armour. Adan thrust a handkerchief under his nose. He was weeping again unaware.

“Shall I call for your mate?” 

“I… um... no. He’s not here,” Cullen dabbed his swimming eyes and sniffed. 

“I was going to take an evening stroll anyway,” Adan rolled his eyes like he was performing heroic duty. “Never thought I’d play escort to the Inquisition Commander. As the only supposedly healer informed of your condition, I must assign rest after dark. Not work.”

Bearing a heavy sigh, the omega obliged and accepted the offer to be led to his room. There he thought the alchemist wasn’t going to fuss. Later tucked into blankets to ward off the draft, he was stroking the small curve of his belly and sleepily muttering kind praise to the unborn child encouraging him or her to grow healthy and eventually come out to meet their father. 

The following week, Cullen adjusted the buckles to the last slot. He couldn’t squeeze the baby even if he was driven by a powerful instinct to protect the tiny being cradled in his belly by keeping their existence a secret for as long as possible. So many unfriendly eyes rested on Inquisition seeking the opportunities to exploit. 

An overwhelming tenderness flooded the omega whenever he wandered whether he or she would have Dorian’s thought-sparkling eyes and a brilliant smile. Missing the alpha more than ever, he snuck into the library where the mage left his cloak hanging on the armchair frequently occupied by him. Cradling the trophy to his chest, the omega ventured back to his bed on the battlements. Falling asleep, Cullen buried his nose into its folds breathing in wistfully Dorian’s scent. 

Did the alpha want children? This question troubled and loomed the closer he came to the Inquisitor’s return. Not once had he heard Dorian mention children. On those occasions when a noisy, snotty wail would shatter the premises, the alpha made a wide berth around it. He also made a point to steer clear of any cheerful activity that involved running and mud. Kids were a messy, emotional entity the alpha did not look ready to deal with. 

Now that Cullen needed to take care of another, would the alpha be satisfied, especially when so much still rested on their physical attraction? His body was going to change a lot restricting certain things. It already was. Dorian could lose interest and they would grow detached. 

Would his interest still be there even without any changes? Having plenty of freedom while travelling with Maxwell in the wilds could have made Dorian reconsider getting burdened with a prim partner who still fumbled and blushed furiously when they made love. 

In pregnancy, the omega’s relied heavily on their mates. Their scent alone and cuddling maintained health equilibrium. In those sad instances when omegas had lost their mates, a support alpha had to be urgently found. While he was going to face Dorian honestly, a self-preservation instinct itched to delay the confession to keep the alpha close to him for a long as possible. The abandonment seemed a very much realistic and daunting entity. No. Those were low thoughts. He had to trust Dorian. 

Speaking of honesty, there was another person who had to be informed. How many times had Mia scolded him for cutting the rest of the family out of his life? His correspondence was irregular even after she found him anew at Skyhold and sent a howler threatening to come and smack him silly for failing to inform them whether he was alive or not.

Reluctantly, Cullen picked up a quill and dipped it into the ink. 

Dear Mia,

I'm p-leased to tell you that I'm doing good. My work is good, but I'm learning to follow the healer's advice and take time for the personal needs because it would be good. I've met someone. His name is Dorian. He's good. 

A fat blob precariously dangled off the quill tip while he searched for the right words and then plopped onto the page. This was terrible. Commander tore up the unintelligible piece of paper and began anew. 

Dear Mia,

In several months, I will become a parent.

Take care of yourself.

Cullen

Maybe not rich in detail, but his note conveyed the most important point. Once the letter dried and got sealed securely, Cullen went up to the raven tower. The black bird, carrying the news, soared into the blue sky. 

Adan showed up a few days later and brought a hefty ointment jar. Pointedly, he avoided staring at Commander’s midsection concealed by a spacious coat. Take it and shove it where it was needed because it was great for keeping the skin healthy, was the curt message. Before sleep, when Cullen chanced scooping up a generous amount and rubbing it into his stomach, the ointment left a whiff of lavender and a pleasant cooling sensation in its wake. It soothed his skin that felt stretched to the limit and tight. 

Another blossoming morning found him on the floor, knees red from crouching for many long hours prior to dawn. Filled with vomit, the bucket he clutched was tilting precariously. Making up for the lost time, the morning sickness caught up to him vengefully. Seventh time in a row he was greeting the roosters by pressing the puke bucket between his thighs.

“I’m sorry, little one,” the omega rasped giving his stomach a pat. “I don’t mean for you to be upset because I’m such a mess." He wasn’t sure if it was too early, but various texts described how children were affected by their mother’s moods. Cullen crawled to the wall and leaned against it. His eyes shut in a dire attempt to shake off the dreadful feelings. His mind gradually conjured a half forgotten tune his mother used to sing when he was a toddler. Humming the familiar notes, he felt his stomach beginning to settle, allowing him to wash up and get dressed. While still manageable his undershirt stretched, confirming his suspicion the child wasn't going to remain concealed much longer even by wearing the baggy outfits. 

He had to hurry. Recently, he had been late twice for his meetings with Cassandra. While his punctual reputation allowed tardiness to be assigned to some unquestioned vital task this line of credibility would eventually run short. Hurrying down the stairwell he ventured right into the center of the commotion concentrated around the reinforced gates. Excited, everyone hailed the Inquisitor’s return.


End file.
